Johnlock; Rehab

Unconsolable

SHERLOCK

I choked as my muscles clenched impossibly tight, my throat desperate for air. Erratically, my heart pounded in my chest so hard I was afraid it might explode. A huge convulsion tore through my body and I writhed in the sweaty, dirty bed that I had hidden myself away in. My hands grabbed at the sheets and my back arched in agony. Broken, wooden blinds on the tiny windows allowed only the tiny bit of gloomy light into the room and I could see hardly anything around me.

Soon, my grunts turned into desperate pleading breaths for help and eventually I was screaming, unable to bear the pure agony that ripped mercilessly at every inch of my body. 'Let me die' I begged inside my head; no words, only tortured screams, could escape through my mouth. 'Why can't I just... DIE!'

***

My eyes opened to a blinding white light and immediately I pulled my arm up to shelter myself from the shocking brightness.

"Cocaine." A low voice from beside me sneered. "What the hell did you think you were doing, Sherlock?" the voice questions me, an obvious anger bubbling up from behind the calm exterior.

I groaned and rolled over, attempting to block out my older brother. Perhaps if I pretended he wasn't there, he would disappear. I heard the sound of a chair scraping behind me as Mycroft stood up. Sighing, I prepared myself for another pointless lecture- he always thought he was in charge of me. As if listening to him whine at me would ever help my situation. Besides, wasn't he supposed to be spending his time running the country for God's sake? I sat up and turned to face him, wincing against the still blinding hospital lights. When he saw my face, his own contorted into a look of shock for a millisecond before he composed himself and returned back to his normal, irritatingly calm demeanour. I glanced at a reflection of myself in the glass of a nearby picture frame and noted my white as death skin and horrifically set back, dark eyes.

"I'm sending you to rehab." Mycroft stated, hardly. His hands were curved around an umbrella handle and his eyes were focused on mine. No matter how hard he had tried to conceal it, I could see his nerves running wild. I scoffed at him and shook my head, "You won't send me to rehab, Mycroft." Before continuing, I leant over the bed rail and turned up my morphine dial extra high in an attempt to tip the niggling anger in his voice overboard. "Your little brother being exposed as a drug addict is a scandal you want to avoid."

In response, Mycroft swung his umbrella up, underneath his arm and laughed to himself. "Surprisingly, Sherlock, my reputation is not more important than you." He raised an eyebrow at me, daring me to answer back, but I was already too tired from our conversation to respond. I was definitely not in a state to argue with him so I kept my mouth shut and admitted defeat. With that, he smugly turned my morphine dial right back down and strutted out of the room.

As soon as he was out of view, I groaned and let my pounding head rest back against the pillow. Within seconds, I had drifted back into blissful sleep, my scattered thoughts sinking into a black oblivion.